intervention {grey's - meredith, alex}
Title: Intervention
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Meredith, Alex.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,204
Author's Note: Written for liljan98. This comes across as anti Alex/Lexie (though not ship bashing), due to both the prompter and a little of my own meta. What can I say -- I'll swing both ways with just about anything ;)
Summary: Post ep for "Push". Intervention, n., interposition or interference of one state in the affairs of another. Or how Meredith finally blows the whistle.
The sight of her sister crying on a less-than sanitary bathroom floor in the middle of the day is pretty much something that sticks with her. And not really in a good way either.
This is why pretty much the second she sees Alex next, she reacts by manhandling him into an exam room and locks the door.
(She supposes that, under close scrutiny, some would say that one did not have to do to the other, which is partially true. If this was all about the bathroom, then the one that she should probably be yanking into an empty room is Mark. Because that isn’t Alex’s fault and correlation does not prove causation. However, her words mean about a fourth as much to Mark as they do to Alex. She has more pull. And feels more obligation.
She can’t tell Mark to stop moving on with his life because it’s upsetting her sister. She can tell Alex to get out of this relationship before he drives the two of them right into a brick wall - or allows them to be driven into one.)
“What the hell, Grey?” He asks, his back colliding with a wall, and he gets this look on his face, raised eyebrow and smug smirk, like he’s about to ask if she’s got an itch that needs to be scratched, albeit jokingly. At least he’s putting in the effort; it’s a good sign.
She stops him anyways, planting a finger in his chest and wearing her best ‘in control’ look. “Stop sleeping with my sister.”
Alex rolls his eyes and stops looking at her altogether. “Don’t you already have this conversation with her at least three times a week?”
“Yes, I do,” and, you know, maybe it’s a bit excessive but Meredith has been down this long, bumpy road before and she knows exactly how many dead end signs lie ahead, “and now I’m talking to you.”
“Why?” The tone in his voice rather blatantly states that he doesn’t care what her reason is; he just wants her to come to the conclusion that this is a rather useless avenue to pursue any further. It’s a smokescreen and they’ve known each other for far too long for this shit.
Just for that, she’s prepared to rip into him. “Because forty five minutes ago my sister cried on a bathroom floor. And, yeah, okay, maybe that’s not your fault - except for the whole telling her that Mark’s moved on in what sounds like the most insensitive way possible - but you’re not helping. You aren’t helping at all. You’re not good for her and she’s not good for you and - “
“Look, mom,” he cuts her off, rather pointedly making eye contact on that last word, “we’re big kids now and if we want to have a little fun, then we’ll have a little fun.”
“Fun?” She almost laughs. “You call this fun?”
He seems to have found his confidence again, momentary lapse all but forgotten. “You did too in the not so distant past, though you’ve done a pretty good job at pretending otherwise.”
“That didn’t turn out so well for me,” she replies, all seriousness.
“Yeah, well, the settling down thing didn’t turn out to be so great either.”
It’s her turn to look away. “That’s going to be the excuse from now on, isn’t it? It didn’t work the first time, so why bother giving it a second chance.”
“Yeah. Definition of insanity is doing the same thing twice and expecting different results.”
“Not with this.”
“So you’re an expert because you got married on a post-it?” His words sting; she doesn’t let it show in her face. “Because that makes a lot of sense.”
“No, but I know enough to know that whatever you’re doing right now with Lexie - “
“It’s called moving on,” he defines, in the middle of her sentence, again, and she’s getting tired of interruptions. Tired enough that the idea of slapping a hand over his mouth, if just to get the thoughts that have been tumbling around her head for what has, admittedly, been the past few weeks out.
“No,” she says, louder than she intended, because she is essentially yelling in his face at this point, “it’s called standing still. It’s called playing make-believe. It’s called lying to yourself.”
“Now that you’re a fucking expert at.”
There’s more, at least there probably is, more lies mixed with slight truths that she doesn’t want to hear, but she doesn’t give him the opportunity to continue because she slaps him across the face. It isn’t hard, not enough to draw blood or chip teeth, but it isn’t exactly what one would call gentle either.
The silent shock on his face is what she was going for.
(He can’t hit her back. The inability is ingrained in him, and in a sick way that’s the first thing that crosses her mind.)
“You won’t listen to me,” she says, as if that immediately excuses the action. “You won’t freaking listen to me and she’s crying and you aren’t happy. She says she’s doing the no-feelings thing, and yet she’s sleeping with you, just you, someone she already has a history with. That’s something you do with some random guy at the bar. And you’ve somehow managed to convince yourself that fucking the pain away is something that’s going to work.”
Alex isn’t looking at her but he also isn’t talking, so she counts it as progress.
“Telling Izzie to leave was probably the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, I get that. I get that you still love her, that you probably always will - “
He breaks that progressive streak rather quickly. “Stop it with the romanticism crap.”
“You always will,” she’s adamant, over-enunciating; she means business here, “and now there’s this void. But this isn’t healthy.”
“She’s fine with it.”
“No, she’s not. And even if she is, you need to be the bigger person. You need to step back. You’re not stupid, Alex. And you’re not the asshole frat boy that walked into this hospital so stop trying to act like it.” She shakes her head at nothing and everything. “She’s my sister. But you’re my family too, and you’ve been that for a long time. Too long for me to cool my heels and do nothing.”
“It’s just sex,” he says; it feels a lot like the last line of defense.
“No, it’s not.”
“You just want me to play it like Sloan. Find some chick to settle down with. Not happening.”
“I don’t want that.” He doesn’t flinch when she brings her hand up again, this time to run her fingers along his cheek, the gentler side of the gesture. “I want you to be you. And this isn’t who you are anymore.”
It’s a good note to end on. It’s the perfect note to end on, in fact, because it isn’t like she’s going to get anything that amounts to an answer out of him, so she drops her hand and walks out the door.
Alex can’t argue when he’s faced with nothing but four blank walls and his own thoughts.
He wasn’t going to win anyways; not this time.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Meredith, Alex.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,204
Author's Note: Written for liljan98. This comes across as anti Alex/Lexie (though not ship bashing), due to both the prompter and a little of my own meta. What can I say -- I'll swing both ways with just about anything ;)
Summary: Post ep for "Push". Intervention, n., interposition or interference of one state in the affairs of another. Or how Meredith finally blows the whistle.
The sight of her sister crying on a less-than sanitary bathroom floor in the middle of the day is pretty much something that sticks with her. And not really in a good way either.
This is why pretty much the second she sees Alex next, she reacts by manhandling him into an exam room and locks the door.
(She supposes that, under close scrutiny, some would say that one did not have to do to the other, which is partially true. If this was all about the bathroom, then the one that she should probably be yanking into an empty room is Mark. Because that isn’t Alex’s fault and correlation does not prove causation. However, her words mean about a fourth as much to Mark as they do to Alex. She has more pull. And feels more obligation.
She can’t tell Mark to stop moving on with his life because it’s upsetting her sister. She can tell Alex to get out of this relationship before he drives the two of them right into a brick wall - or allows them to be driven into one.)
“What the hell, Grey?” He asks, his back colliding with a wall, and he gets this look on his face, raised eyebrow and smug smirk, like he’s about to ask if she’s got an itch that needs to be scratched, albeit jokingly. At least he’s putting in the effort; it’s a good sign.
She stops him anyways, planting a finger in his chest and wearing her best ‘in control’ look. “Stop sleeping with my sister.”
Alex rolls his eyes and stops looking at her altogether. “Don’t you already have this conversation with her at least three times a week?”
“Yes, I do,” and, you know, maybe it’s a bit excessive but Meredith has been down this long, bumpy road before and she knows exactly how many dead end signs lie ahead, “and now I’m talking to you.”
“Why?” The tone in his voice rather blatantly states that he doesn’t care what her reason is; he just wants her to come to the conclusion that this is a rather useless avenue to pursue any further. It’s a smokescreen and they’ve known each other for far too long for this shit.
Just for that, she’s prepared to rip into him. “Because forty five minutes ago my sister cried on a bathroom floor. And, yeah, okay, maybe that’s not your fault - except for the whole telling her that Mark’s moved on in what sounds like the most insensitive way possible - but you’re not helping. You aren’t helping at all. You’re not good for her and she’s not good for you and - “
“Look, mom,” he cuts her off, rather pointedly making eye contact on that last word, “we’re big kids now and if we want to have a little fun, then we’ll have a little fun.”
“Fun?” She almost laughs. “You call this fun?”
He seems to have found his confidence again, momentary lapse all but forgotten. “You did too in the not so distant past, though you’ve done a pretty good job at pretending otherwise.”
“That didn’t turn out so well for me,” she replies, all seriousness.
“Yeah, well, the settling down thing didn’t turn out to be so great either.”
It’s her turn to look away. “That’s going to be the excuse from now on, isn’t it? It didn’t work the first time, so why bother giving it a second chance.”
“Yeah. Definition of insanity is doing the same thing twice and expecting different results.”
“Not with this.”
“So you’re an expert because you got married on a post-it?” His words sting; she doesn’t let it show in her face. “Because that makes a lot of sense.”
“No, but I know enough to know that whatever you’re doing right now with Lexie - “
“It’s called moving on,” he defines, in the middle of her sentence, again, and she’s getting tired of interruptions. Tired enough that the idea of slapping a hand over his mouth, if just to get the thoughts that have been tumbling around her head for what has, admittedly, been the past few weeks out.
“No,” she says, louder than she intended, because she is essentially yelling in his face at this point, “it’s called standing still. It’s called playing make-believe. It’s called lying to yourself.”
“Now that you’re a fucking expert at.”
There’s more, at least there probably is, more lies mixed with slight truths that she doesn’t want to hear, but she doesn’t give him the opportunity to continue because she slaps him across the face. It isn’t hard, not enough to draw blood or chip teeth, but it isn’t exactly what one would call gentle either.
The silent shock on his face is what she was going for.
(He can’t hit her back. The inability is ingrained in him, and in a sick way that’s the first thing that crosses her mind.)
“You won’t listen to me,” she says, as if that immediately excuses the action. “You won’t freaking listen to me and she’s crying and you aren’t happy. She says she’s doing the no-feelings thing, and yet she’s sleeping with you, just you, someone she already has a history with. That’s something you do with some random guy at the bar. And you’ve somehow managed to convince yourself that fucking the pain away is something that’s going to work.”
Alex isn’t looking at her but he also isn’t talking, so she counts it as progress.
“Telling Izzie to leave was probably the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, I get that. I get that you still love her, that you probably always will - “
He breaks that progressive streak rather quickly. “Stop it with the romanticism crap.”
“You always will,” she’s adamant, over-enunciating; she means business here, “and now there’s this void. But this isn’t healthy.”
“She’s fine with it.”
“No, she’s not. And even if she is, you need to be the bigger person. You need to step back. You’re not stupid, Alex. And you’re not the asshole frat boy that walked into this hospital so stop trying to act like it.” She shakes her head at nothing and everything. “She’s my sister. But you’re my family too, and you’ve been that for a long time. Too long for me to cool my heels and do nothing.”
“It’s just sex,” he says; it feels a lot like the last line of defense.
“No, it’s not.”
“You just want me to play it like Sloan. Find some chick to settle down with. Not happening.”
“I don’t want that.” He doesn’t flinch when she brings her hand up again, this time to run her fingers along his cheek, the gentler side of the gesture. “I want you to be you. And this isn’t who you are anymore.”
It’s a good note to end on. It’s the perfect note to end on, in fact, because it isn’t like she’s going to get anything that amounts to an answer out of him, so she drops her hand and walks out the door.
Alex can’t argue when he’s faced with nothing but four blank walls and his own thoughts.
He wasn’t going to win anyways; not this time.